By Ashlie Miller
For hours, we watched for updated forecast posts on social media. We saw the gaping hole in the map that seemed to say to the snowstorm, “You shall not pass – at least not in this area. You can have most of the rest of the state, though.”
But finally, as we sat down to an early supper, we noticed the flurries. In the eerily, gloomy haze, the white wisps did fall and stick to the ground.
Though only trace amounts, my younger children awoke the next morning with expectant eyes. Thankfully, recent experiences with barely distinguishable amounts of snow have cultivated a sense of excitement and contentment over the short-lived frosts. After some morning learning time, we set out to explore.
We had already noticed neighbors across the creek had nothing white on their back lawns. Ours, however, had a lovely, though sparse, sprinkling. Could it be that the shadows of the trees kept the wonderland safe in our yard? Of course, we trekked through the woods, keeping our tradition of doing so on white-blanketed days. My daughter ventured off on her own with a sense of freedom. ”Be careful of the thorns as you hike through,” I cautioned. My youngest son and I went on our routine hunt for ice on the creek. What boy doesn’t want to break off sheets of ice and see it shatter like glass? “Don’t get too close to the edge and fall in,” I warned.
In the shadows: a warmth amid bleak mid-winter, glittering treasures to discover (don’t mistake them for just snow-covered branches and rocks), snowy places protected even if for a little while to bring moments of delight.
I have walked through many shadowy places in my life. Many valleys of the shadow, even. I am sure you have, too. I have watched my closest loved ones succumb to their end here on earth. I have held hands and loved those who walked close to death’s door and came out victorious, thankfully. But walking through shadowy places can be a painful, dangerous place we would rather avoid. It can seem unending with no relief in sight. As difficult as it is for the loved one going through life’s last door, those who remain behind can be overwhelmed by anticipatory grief.
But in the shadows, there can be warmth, glittering treasures, and sacred places to bring moments of delight. In her final year, I remember spending whole days with my mother away from my family so I could just be “daughter” with my mom a little longer. Talks, laughs, sitting still together – sometimes talking like she would be here forever; other times sitting still, realizing these were precious moments. Towards her final days, the entire family gathered around to sit, share stories, hear her talk about the Bible, and even listen to her describe what she thought she heard or was seeing. Like a little girl, I had opportunities to climb up in bed with her, read her Scriptures, or hear her share memories I had never heard her say. These were moments that we would not have otherwise experienced.
The shadows can be dark and scary places, but they can also preserve memorable moments unique to the valleys. When you next go through the shadowy places, remember, “Yay, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of darkness, I will fear no evil, for You [God] are with me.”
Ashlie Miller and her family live in Concord, NC.
